


kintsugi

by spinnerofyarns



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: College AU, F/M, Mentions of past abuse, art student/model au, sv against tyranny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 09:42:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10784286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinnerofyarns/pseuds/spinnerofyarns
Summary: Kintsugi, n., the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with lacquer dusted or mixedwith powdered gold, silver, or platinum. It treats breakage and repair as part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise.-----Jarica art student/model AUFor #SVAgainstTyranny!





	kintsugi

            Jared hesitates before the door of the art studio. In a minute, he’ll go inside and strip down in front of a class full of students so they can study his weird repulsive broken body and try to capture it on paper. The job is decidedly weird, but it pays much better than his job at the library and, as the hollow hungry ache in his stomach that never quite disappears reminds him, he needs the money.

            He takes a deep breath, steels himself, and knocks. Professor Gregory opens the door.

            “Jared!” he says. “Good to see you. Come in, come in. How are you doing?”

            “I’m okay, Professor Gregory, what about you?” It’s weird making small talk with someone who’s already seen him naked (and will see him naked again) but Jared supposes he’ll get used to it.

            “Please, call me Peter. I’m doing well, thank you for asking. Now, just duck behind that screen to undress, the students will be here in a minute or two. There’s a blanket you can wrap around yourself if you’re cold.”

            Jared nods. “Thank you,” he says, stepping behind the Japanese folding screen in the corner of the room.

            He neatly folds his clothes as he removes them, focusing on them to avoid looking at his body, covered in scars from abusive foster homes and still-healing bruises from his ex-boyfriend. When he’s done, he’s shivering, and even though he knows it’s not from cold he wraps the blanket around himself all the same.

            The students have started filing in, and Jared quickly ducks between the easels to the padded platform on the floor. He sits down on it, curled up with his legs against his chest and his head turned to the side so that his cheek rests on his knee. The blanket pools around him and spills off the edge onto the floor. Jared sits perfectly still, not moving, barely breathing. He’s had plenty of practice with this, hiding in closets and cupboards waiting for his foster parents to calm down.

            “Hey guys,” Professor Gregory says, “welcome back. I hope you had a good weekend, mine was most relaxing. Now, you’ll notice we have a new model today – he should pose an interesting challenge after Mr Bachman. Pay special attention to the way his bones align with each other, especially around joints.”

            Jared can’t suppress a shudder that runs through him at hearing Professor Gregory describe him like an object. _75 dollars_ , he reminds himself. _75 dollars just for sitting here for 3 hours. You can handle this._

            He’s handled far worse for far less, after all.

            The 3 hours pass without much discomfort. Professor Gregory tells Jared when to change positions and walks around looking at the students’ sketches. Sometimes he makes a comment like “No, no, look at his back again, you can see more vertebrae than that” or “I’m pretty sure human elbows don’t – oh. Apparently Jared’s do.” It’s chilly, and Jared knows it will only get colder as the winter progresses, but not as bad as some of the rooms he had to sleep in growing up. And he can put up with cold and comments about his body for $25 an hour.

            Finally professor Gregory lets the students go, and Jared wraps the blanket around himself and ducks behind the screen to get dressed. When he comes back out, one student is still packing up her bag. Her sketch is still on the easel, waiting to be rolled up and packed into the plastic tube standing beside her. Jared can’t stop himself from walking around to take a look.

            It’s a rushed sketch of his last pose, half lounging, his feet tucked behind him and his head turned to the side. It’s drawn from behind, so his back – scarred and bruised and mangled – is in full view. But somehow she’s managed to make him look soft and delicate and almost beautiful.

            “It’s lovely,” Jared says, and immediately claps a hand over his mouth as the girl turns around. “I’m sorry.”

            She laughs. “Don’t be. You’re…Jared, right?”

            He nods. “Jared Dunn.” It’s the name he gave himself at the age of 18, shaking off the trauma of his childhood with his old name.

            “I’m Monica Hall. It’s nice to…meet you? I guess? It’s weird saying that _after_ I’ve already seen you naked.” Monica laughs again and Jared can’t help but chuckle too.

            “It’s rather odd,” he admits. “But it’s nice to meet you too.”

            Monica smiles, then glances at the clock on the wall behind Jared. “Oh, _fuck_ , I’m late for my next class. I’m sorry, Jared, I’ll see you on Thursday, right?”

            “Yes,” Jared says, picking up his messenger bag from the corner where he left it and waving to Monica. “I’ll be here.”

\----

            Thursday’s class is right before Jared’s Microtheory exam. He asks professor Gregory if he can study while he poses, using the textbook as a prop of sorts.

            “Sure,” Peter says. “It’ll be good practice for the students.”

            So Jared brings the textbook to class and reads it while he’s posing. After class, Monica sticks around and talks to him again.

            “So you’re an econ major?” she says. “I saw your book.”

            Jared nods. “And you’re a…visual art major?”

            “Concentration in painting,” Monica says.

            “That sounds fascinating,” Jared says. “What other classes are you taking?”

            “I’ve got a color theory class, painting studio periods, and Renaissance Italian art history,” Monica says, slinging her backpack onto her shoulder. “Which I’m late for,” she adds. “Good luck on your test!” With that, she dashes off.

            Jared knows that her kind words were probably an afterthought but he holds on to them as if they’re a precious gem. He goes to his Microtheory class and takes the exam, all the while hearing Monica’s voice wishing him good luck. Her kind smile stays with him all day, and when he curls up in bed, warm and sleepy and pleasantly full from dinner for the first time in a very long time, her face is the last thing he thinks about before falling asleep.

            He’s actually excited to go to the studio the following week. This time, Monica positions her easel in front of him, and periodically looks up from her sketch and smiles at him, which makes him feel a pleasant surge of warmth inside.

            But everything goes wrong when Professor Gregory steps in to correct Jared’s pose. The moment his hands touch Jared’s hips, Jared feels his heart start racing, and his field of vision narrows to a tiny tunnel showing only what is directly in front of him. When Professor Gregory steps back, Jared holds the pose, frozen still, his consciousness floating a few feet above his body.  He moves half-consciously through the rest of the poses and takes a few minutes to collect himself before putting his clothes back on.

            “Jared?” He hears Monica’s voice as he’s struggling to button his shirt. “Are you all right?”

            “Fine,” he chokes out, trying to stop his hands from shaking. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

            Monica steps around the screen and Jared thanks whatever higher power is up there that he managed to get his boxers on as she wordlessly reaches for the buttons of his shirt and does them up for him, then buttons the cuffs around his bony wrists. Jared feels a flush creeping up his neck and face, and turns away, reaching for his pants. He keeps his face down as he puts them on. When he looks up again, Monica’s still there.

            “My class got canceled,” she says. “Do you want to go get a cup of coffee or something? My treat,” she adds quickly.

            Jared’s heart skips a beat. “I…I’ve got about an hour before my next class,” he says. “Let’s go.”

            They end up at a café tucked into a quiet corner near the library. Monica orders a cappuccino and Jared gets a soy chai latte. He wraps his hands around the mug, letting the warmth bring him fully back into his body. He takes a sip, feeling it slide down his throat into his belly, spreading warmth through his veins.

            “Are you all right?” Monica asks again.

            Jared nods. “I am now,” he says. “I just…I panicked. When Professor Gregory…I’m not comfortable being touched without warning. Especially…like that.”

            “Oh,” Monica says. “Um, I’m sorry. About the shirt, I mean. I just…you looked like you could use a hand.”

            “It’s okay,” Jared says. “I could see what you were doing, so I wasn’t nervous. Don’t worry about it.” He takes another sip of his drink.

            “Is it…does it have anything to do with those scars and bruises?” Monica asks softly. Jared bites the inside of his cheek at the reminder that she’s seen all his deepest secrets, and Monica clicks her tongue self-deprecatingly. “I’m sorry. I’m an asshole sometimes. You don’t have to answer. Forget about it.”

            “No, it’s all right,” Jared says. “I recently broke up with an abusive partner, and I’m…trying to re-establish my boundaries. So yeah, it kind of has something to do with that, but I’ve really never had a very good history with being touched.” He takes another sip of his latte, willing himself to shut up. _She doesn’t need your entire tragic story,_ he reminds himself. _No one cares._

            Monica frowns. “I’m sorry to hear that. May I?” She reaches across the table for his hand. Against his better judgment, Jared lets her take it, and rub her thumb over his prominent knuckles. He feels a shudder down his spine, still unaccustomed to being treated so gently. Monica’s hand is delightfully warm against his skin, and he never wants to let go.

            Internally, he scolds himself. _Don’t be so selfish. This is just her pitying you._ He takes another sip of his drink to hide his face. When he looks up, Monica is still holding his hand. He glances at the watch on his other wrist.

            “Oh, shoot, I’m going to be late!” he says, jumping up. Monica stands up too, and lets go of his hand as he picks up his bag. When he straightens up, she’s smiling at him.

            “Well, I guess I’ll see you on Thursday, then,” she says. “Take care.”

            Jared smiles back. “I’ll see you then,” he says. He heads out of the café, already adding “take care” to his meager collection of kind words, turning the phrase over and over in his mind.

\----

            Monica watches Jared walk away, noting the slight hitch in his step, as though from a poorly healed injury. She feels a tugging in her heart, an urge to hold him and take care of him and protect him.

            She sits back down, pulls out her art history reading, and settles in to do homework for the rest of the afternoon.

            But her mind keeps wandering back to Jared, to the angry scars all over his thin back and his wide sad eyes and the way his bones stick out under his skin, and the way he stiffened and trembled when Professor Gregory touched him. After the fifth time re-reading the same paragraph because she got lost in a weird tangent about the little divot on Jared’s chest, she sighs, packs up her books, and goes home.

\----

            A few classes later, Monica finally asks for Jared’s phone number.

            “I’ve figured out what I want to do for my final project for my painting class,” she says, “and I want to use you as a model, so I’m going to need to be able to reach you to schedule modeling sessions. I’ll pay you in food,” she adds immediately. The part about her project is somewhat true – she does want to use Jared as her model, but she has no clue what she’s actually going to paint yet. She just wants to be able to check on him and make sure he’s safe.

            Jared smiles. “I’d do it for free,” he says, pulling out his phone. “Here, put your number in and I’ll text you so you have my number.” He hands his phone to Monica and she enters her number.

            “I’d feel bad taking advantage of you,” she says. “Anyway, I’m running late, but do you want to come over for dinner later? I bought way too much stuff for stir fry and I need to use it all before it goes bad. I live just a short walk from campus, on Vine Street, I can meet you somewhere around 5 and we can walk over together.” She pauses to let him answer and hands his phone back to him.

            “I have work until 6,” Jared says. “At the library. But we can meet there. Should I bring anything?”

            “Just your lovely presence.” Monica says.

            Jared chuckles. “Okay, see you tonight.”

            As Monica walks to her next class, her phone buzzes with a text.

            _Hey Monica, it’s Jared. Can’t wait till tonight!_

\----

            True to her word, Monica is waiting for Jared when he comes out of the library. He’s pleasantly surprised to see her there – he’s been stood up too many times before. But she’s there, and she smile and tucks her book away as he approaches.

            “How was the rest of your day?” she asks.

            “Okay,” Jared says. “Uneventful. How was yours?”

            Monica groans. “I think I failed my Art History test, and then I sat on my palette in the painting studio.” She angles her hips as she walks to show him a blue-grey stain on her butt. “I need a drink.”

            Jared cringes. “That sounds bad, I’m sorry.”

            Monica shrugs. “Occupational hazard. I’m pretty sure I don’t actually have any non-paint-stained pants anymore. I will need a new palette though, I broke this one with my fat butt. And apparently I’ve got an 8 AM shift at the café I work at tomorrow, which is great cause it means more money, but…I do value my beauty sleep.” She chuckles. “Not that it does much good.”

            Jared stammers, unsure what to say. “I – ah – that is – well, I think it does,” he finally says. “You look lovely.” He pauses, then hastens to add “Not in a creepy way! I just…well…you do look nice.” He blushes.

            Monica smiles. “You’re sweet to say that.”

            “Well, I mean it,” Jared says, still blushing.

            Monica smiles again as they cross Campus Drive heading towards the town. “Left here,” she says, and Jared follows her. “So where are you from?” she asks.

            The question throws Jared a little – even after several years at college, he doesn’t know quite how to explain his odd upbringing in foster care, never living in one place long enough to be from there. “Um…I grew up in Pennsylvania,” he says finally. “What about you?”

            “Baltimore. Well, just outside it really. So, we’re both from all the way on the other side of the country, huh? What brought you out here?” Monica asks.

            “The economics faculty,” Jared says. “Plus they offered me an almost full scholarship. And it’s much warmer than where I grew up. I don’t miss the cold.” He doesn’t miss much about Pennsylvania at all.

            Monica laughs. “Yeah, sunshine in October is still bizarre, and I’m a senior, you’d think I would be used to it by now. What about you, what year are you in?”

            “I’m a senior too,” Jared says, “but I’ve taken summer classes for the last two summers, so I probably came in the year after you.”

            “Wow,” Monica says. “Every summer? I don’t think I could do that, college is stressful enough as it is. Don’t you miss your family, being so far away from them for so long? I’d miss my mom like crazy.”

            And here it is, the awkward answer he has no way to avoid. Jared bites his lip as Monica digs her keys out of her purse and opens the front door of a red brick apartment building.

            “I…well, I don’t really have a family to speak of,” he says, following her inside and up the stairs to the second floor. “My mother died when I was very young and I grew up in foster care.”

            Monica unlocks the door to her apartment and Jared follows her inside, bracing himself for the “oh, you poor thing, that must have been awful” that is sure to come.

            Except that it doesn’t. Monica just looks at him and says “That sucks. I’m sorry,” and takes his hand in hers and squeezes it gently, reassuringly. She drops her bag on the floor and motions for him to do the same. When he does, she says “Do you want anything to drink? Water, wine, gin…I think that’s about the limit of the liquids in my fridge at the moment, there might be some cranberry juice but I don’t know how long it’s been there.”

            “Water would be nice, thank you,” Jared says, following Monica into the kitchen.

            Monica gets a pitcher of water out of the fridge. “Would you get a glass?” she asks. “My roommate’s put them up on one of the higher shelves, probably just to spite me.”

            Jared smiles. “No problem. Which cabinet?”

            Monica taps one of the cabinets before reaching into the fridge again for stir fry ingredients, and Jared opens it and takes out two glasses.

            “Thanks,” Monica says, placing a package of tofu on the kitchen counter. She opens the fridge door again and reaches into the vegetable drawer, emerging with a cabbage, some onions, and broccoli, and motioning for Jared to pour himself some water. He pours a cup for her too, and she gratefully accepts it.

            “Do you have any allergies?” she asks. “I don’t want to accidentally make you sick…”

            “Um…gluten, dairy, and eggs all make me violently ill. Other than that, I don’t think so, and those shouldn’t be a problem here.” Jared answers.

            “Okay,” Monica says. “Do you want to start the rice or chop the vegetables?”

\----

            “That was delicious, Monica,” Jared says, finishing his tiny portion of the meal.

            “Take more,” Monica says. “You’re skin and bones, that may be interesting for figure drawing but it’s not healthy. Please eat.” She piles another helping onto his plate and pushes it back towards him. “I don’t want you starving to death.” At that point she notices that Jared’s eyes are even wider than usual and his lower lip is wobbling slightly. “Jared, what’s wrong? Are you crying?”

            He sniffles and shakes his head, turning away to hide his tears. “It’s nothing. I’m sorry for worrying you. I’m fine. It’s just…been a long time since I had someone worrying about my health like this. Or at all.”

            Monica’s heart breaks a little at this. “Jared, may I hold your hand?” she asks, and he lays it on the table, palm up. She takes it and traces circles on his palm with her thumb. “You don’t have to be alone anymore,” she says. “I’m here for you. I care about you. I want to be your friend, I want to make you feel happy and safe and comfortable, because that’s what friends do for each other. You’re not alone, okay?” And then, against her best judgment, she adds “I love you.”

            Jared blinks at her. “I – you – no, you can’t mean it. Why would you love me? I’m sure you could have your pick of guys who aren’t…broken.”

            Monica squeezes his hand. “Yeah, and I chose you.” Then, she has an idea. “Come with me to the art museum on Saturday. I want to show you something to convince you that being broken isn’t necessarily a bad thing. We can call it our first date.” She smiles at him.

            “I’d love to,” Jared says. “It’s a date.”

\----

            Monica is waiting for Jared when he leaves the library at noon on Saturday.

            “I got you a drink,” she says, handing him a cardboard cup from the café she works at. “Soymilk chai latte.”

            Jared doesn’t quite know how to describe the feeling in his stomach at being treated so kindly. “Thank you,” he says, the words not quite enough to sum up what he wants to say.

            “You’re welcome,” Monica says. “I thought you’d want a boost after work.”

            Jared smiles and takes a sip of the latte, feeling it warming his insides, chasing away some of the chill that seems to have permanently sunk into his bones sometime in childhood, never quite gone despite years spent in the California sun. “So,” he says. “The art museum?”

            Monica nods. “I need some inspiration for my final project and there’s one exhibit I want to show you, if it’s still there. I think it’s still there.”

            Jared smiles. “Would you believe I’ve only ever been to the art museum twice in my whole time here? I took an art history elective during one of my summer semesters. I always make plans to go when I have the time, because I love museums and I feel like I should use the student membership, but then I’m just…so tired.”

            Monica smiles. “I know that feeling. I’m in there a lot for various classes I take, but I almost never have time to just wander around and explore without having any homework to do. So that’s what this afternoon is supposed to be for.”

            “Good plan,” Jared says, taking another sip of his drink. “Shall we?”

            They chat as they walk, mostly inane conversation about their mornings – Monica’s shift at the café, Jared’s work in the library. Jared delights in telling Monica that he got to teach a new generation of freshmen how to use the library databases for research, and Monica tells him about the new drink she made up by combining several pumps of each flavored syrup in one latte.

            “That’s one of those things that could be either amazing or terrible with no in-between,” Jared says.

            “Oh it was disgusting, I shouldn’t have added all the fruit syrups to it.” Monica laughs. “But it was a fun experiment.”

            Jared chuckles.

            They keep making small talk as they walk; Monica tells Jared about her younger brother David and his college application process, Jared talks about his housemates in the year-round dorm, and they both talk about Professor Gregory and how odd he is, until they arrive at the museum. They show their student IDs to the guard at the door, who waves them through, and Monica takes Jared’s hand.

            “Come on,” she says. “There’s something I want to show you.” She leads him through a corridor, up a flight of stairs, and down another corridor into a room full of pottery. She stops in front of a particular cabinet and points to a piece. “Look.”

            Jared looks. It’s a simple earthenware vase, well-made but unremarkable except for the veins of gold running through it. He reads the label.

            “Kintsugi?” he asks.

            “The art of repairing broken pottery with gold,” Monica says. “It’s Japanese. They believe that cracks and damage are an important part of the history and life of every object.” She squeezes his hand, then adds, more softly, “You called yourself broken the other day, and I just wanted to show you that being broken doesn’t necessarily mean you can’t be beautiful or loved. You’ve been through terrible things, but you’ve grown from them into the kind, gentle, wonderful person you are now, and I’m so glad that you survived and that I got to meet you.”

            Jared feels tears forming in his eyes even as he smiles, and reaches to wipe them away. “I’m sorry,” he says. “It’s just that…you’re always so kind to me. I haven’t really had much kindness in my life, and…I’m glad I met you.” He turns to Monica. “I love you.”

            “I love you too, sweetheart,” she answers.

\----

            In the museum shop, Jared buys some postcards, including one of the kintsugi vase.

            “These are so lovely,” Monica says, flipping through them on the walk home. “What are you going to do with them? Send them to someone?”

            “I like to put them up on the wall at the foot of my bed,” Jared says, “so that when I wake up in the morning, the first thing I see is a little reminder that there are beautiful things in this world worth getting out of bed for.”

            Monica smiles. “I should give you a photo of myself,” she jokes, “to add to that collection.”

            Jared chuckles.

\----

            That night Jared wakes up screaming, drenched in cold sweat and shivering after another nightmare. Remembering Monica’s parting words after dinner that night – “I’m going to be working on a paper all night, text me if you need anything. _Anything at all._ ” – he reaches for his phone.

            _Monica? Are you awake?_

A few seconds later his phone vibrates in his hand. _I’m here. Are you okay?_

 _I had a nightmare,_ Jared texts. _Just wanted reassurance that this is reality and that was the nightmare._

He doesn’t have to wait long for the reply. _This is real. You’re real. I’m real. I love you. You’re safe. I promise. Do you want me to come over?_

Jared bites his lip. He doesn’t want to inconvenience Monica, or eat into the time she needs to write her paper, but it would be so nice not to fall asleep alone. _Don’t be selfish,_ he chides himself, and writes back _Don’t you have a paper to write?_

_I finished it. And anyway, my boyfriend’s safety takes priority. Should I come over?_

Jared blushes at the word “boyfriend” and runs a hand through his hair. _I don’t want to put you out…_

_Jared don’t be ridiculous. I’m on my way over now, I’ll text when I get there._

Despite himself, Jared feels a warmth spreading through his body at the text. _This is nice,_ he thinks, _this relationship. I could get used to this._

Of course, that’s what he thought about Patrick too, and that didn’t exactly turn out great.          

            _Monica’s different though. Monica asked you out, not the other way round._

_Nothing you thought would be different ever was before, why would it be true now?_

_She’s so kind though, and she respects my boundaries and she cares._

_Yeah, for now._

            After a few more minutes of silent contemplation in bed, Jared’s phone vibrates again. _I’m downstairs. Let me in?_

He pulls on a pair of socks and quietly pads down the stairs from his room – on the top floor, with a skylight and a view of the stars, an attic much nicer and warmer than the ones he was forced to sleep in as a child – to let Monica into the building. As soon as he opens the front door, she asks “Can I hug you?”

            He sinks into the hug gratefully, not even thinking about how disgusting and clammy his skin must be. “Thank you for coming over,” he says softly into Monica’s hair, lovely and soft and smelling like flowers.

            “Of course. Come on, let’s go up to your room, I’ll make you some tea and we can cuddle for a bit, okay?” Monica takes Jared’s hand as they walk up the stairs.

            “Okay. I’m up on the top floor,” Jared warns. The stairs up to his room had been a deal-breaker for Patrick, who preferred to make Jared trek out to his off-campus apartment.

            “Great, I missed leg day this week anyway,” Monica jokes. Jared smiles.

            His room is cozy but small and bare, and he’s embarrassed by it after seeing Monica’s beautiful apartment, decorated with record sleeves and photographs and art prints, bright and cheery and lived-in. But Monica smiles at his tiny simple room.

            “It’s lovely,” she says, looking at the wall at the foot of his bed, covered in postcards from the art museum and other museums in town. “Oh, and you have a skylight! Do you want to open the curtain and look at the stars? They’re supposed to be lovely tonight, it’s a totally clear night.”

            Jared nods, and climbs onto the bed and reaches up to pull up the curtain that covers the skylight, revealing the night sky sparkling with stars. He lies down on the bed and motions for Monica to join him.

            Monica climbs into bed next to him, pulling the blanket up to cover them both. “Is it okay if I rest my head on your shoulder?” she asks, and when Jared nods she slides even closer to him. He lifts his arm and puts it around her shoulders, holding her.

            They lie there in silence for a while, looking at the stars, Monica’s head on Jared’s shoulder. Jared relaxes and moves a little closer, feeling genuinely safe in Monica’s presence.

            Finally Monica breaks the silence. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks. “The nightmare, or…anything else?”

            Jared doesn’t answer immediately. He wants her to know about him but he doesn’t want to pull out something too big and scare her away. Finally, he says “You know I grew up in foster care, yeah?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Well, the families I lived with…they weren’t always nice. They were almost never nice, actually. And I have no doubt that I deserved a lot of it – I was a sickly and difficult child – but...I still have nightmares about what happened to me. About being locked in basements or closets, being beaten, being locked out in the snow…” He trails off, and takes a deep shuddering breath.

            Monica places a hand on his chest. “Jared, sweetheart, you didn’t deserve any of it. No child deserves to be beaten or locked out, and especially not someone as kind and sweet as you. I don’t care how difficult you were, you did nothing to deserve that. It’s abuse, plain and simple, and I want you to know that it isn’t your fault. None of it is.” She feels tears prickling at her eyes and wills herself not to cry. _Jared needs you to be calm right now. You can cry later._ “You did nothing – absolutely _nothing_ – to deserve it.”

            Jared sniffles, and reaches up to wipe his eyes. “But if I didn’t deserve it, why do I keep ending up in situations like that?”

            “A long string of bad luck. But it’s over now, I promise I will never _ever_ mistreat you or hurt you in any way. I love you so much, and I want you to know that you’re safe with me. Always.”

            “But what about when we break up?”

            “That won’t happen. But even if it does, you’re safe with me. I’ll take care of you, I promise.” Monica hugs him, resting her head on his chest, and feels his heart rate – fast and panicky like a rabbit’s – slowing down a little as he relaxes against her.

            They stay like that for a few more minutes, and then Jared says “You’re the first person who’s heard this much about me since the doctors at the student clinic. I needed a physical before I could start my freshman year, and that was the first time I’d seen a doctor in a non-emergency situation. Some of the scars on my back were still healing, and I have a crooked rib – right here, on the left side, “ he guides Monica’s fingers to it, and she strokes it through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, “and, well…it raised a lot of uncomfortable questions.” He pauses. “That was also when I found out about my allergies. All those years of feeling sick after almost every meal, throwing up what little I managed to eat, sure that I was being punished for being a bad person, and it turns out all I had to do was stop eating gluten and eggs and dairy. It was that simple. It wasn’t some major deeply-rooted issue with who I was as a human being – just food allergies.”

He breaks off, his voice choked with tears. “If I’d had a proper allergy test – if anyone had cared enough to notice how sick I was, how much pain I was in – maybe I’d be able to eat normally now, maybe I wouldn’t be deficient in every single basic nutrient, maybe I wouldn’t need to get 20 different shots every month. If someone had cared enough to help me, I could have been normal. But no one ever helped me. I aged out of the system, and now I have nothing outside of this.” He gestures around the room. “No idea what I’m going to do when I graduate and can’t live in college housing anymore, no home to return to after graduation, no family to cheer for me and take pictures of me with my diploma – nothing. And after breaking up with Patrick, I’ve lost what few friends I had too.” There are tears running down his pale cheeks, and Monica reaches to wipe them away.

            “You have me,” she says. “The art school graduation is the day before yours, I’ll come and cheer and take pictures. And you can move into my apartment if you need a place to stay. No matter what happens, I promise you’ll always have a safe place to stay with me. You don’t have to figure things out alone, okay? I’m here for you. I love you.” She hugs him even tighter, and he presses closer to her, trembling a little as he cries. “Shhh, shh,” she soothes, rubbing his back in slow, even circles. “Shhh, it’s okay, let it out, you’re safe, I’m here, I love you.”

            When Jared stops crying and his breathing evens out again, he says “Thank you. Thank you so much. You’ve been so incredibly kind to me.”

            Monica takes his hand, laces her fingers through his, and gives his hand a gentle reassuring squeeze. “I love you,” she says, “and if you’re feeling up for it, I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

            Jared nods, and angles his head to bring his mouth to hers. Her lips are soft and warm against his, and she kisses him gently and lovingly, not aggressively and hungrily the way Patrick did.

            “That was nice,” he says when they come up for air. “Let’s do that again.”

            Monica smiles, and kisses him again. And a few more times, until Jared’s lips are a little bit swollen, his hair disheveled, and his cheeks flushed.

            “Okay,” Jared says, catching his breath. “Okay. I think I should try to sleep now.”

            “Do you want me to stay here?” Monica asks.

            “Don’t go,” Jared says softly.

            “I’m here.” She pulls him closer. “I’m here.”

\----

            “I’ve figured out what I want to do for my final project,” Monica says over breakfast the next morning.

            “What?” Jared asks.

            “I want to paint you, but make your body look like a kintsugi sculpture. You know, paint your scars in gold. Show that you’ve been through hell and come out stronger and more beautiful for it.” Monica takes a sip of her coffee. “If you’re comfortable with that, of course. I can think of something else if you’re not.”

            “No, it sounds perfect.” Jared says. “I’ll do it.”

            “Great,” Monica says, and leans across the table to kiss him.

 

           


End file.
